


Hot Dog Cereal

by maddestofthemad



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: I'm not sure where this came from, is that even edible, probably not, reassurance fic, shiro is terrible at analogies, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:09:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7664461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddestofthemad/pseuds/maddestofthemad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly grueling training session, Shiro realizes that the most stalwart paladin is in need of a pick-me-up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Dog Cereal

“It’s not my fault you can’t hit the broad side of a barn!” Lance snapped, tossing his helmet aside as they entered the castle.

“Oh, really?  And what was that you were doing – a pirouette?” Keith snarled back, wrenching his helmet off his head.

“If either of you had just let me try something -” Pidge argued.

“Guys, could you just tone it down,” Shiro rubbed at his eyes and sighed.

“Keith started it!” Lance complained.  Keith turned on him, furious.

“ _Shut it!_ ”

Everyone froze.  Lance stared at Hunk, jaw hanging open, Keith’s hand latched onto his collar.  Pidge stuck her lower lip out, grumbling under her breath.  Shiro looked stunned.

“Hunk?” Shiro asked.

“Just – shut it, okay?  I’m so sick of hearing about how everyone else is screwing up, but it’s _no one’s_ fault, and you all just _bicker_ so much.  Just.  Shut it.  Please.”  Tossing his bayard onto a nearby table, Hunk exited the hangar, heading for the kitchen.

“Hunk, wait - ” Lance took a step forward, belatedly closing his mouth.  Shiro stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  “Shiro?”

“I’ll go talk to him,” Shiro said, “you three wash up.  And try not to pick a fight while you’re at it.”

Keith scowled, but released Lance and walked away.  Pidge followed shortly after.

“Hey, Shiro?” Lance watched after Hunk’s retreating form.

“Yeah, Lance?”

“Hunk is…well, he’s my best friend.  Just…take care of him, okay?”  Lance smiled hesitantly, “I might not always know what to say – maybe you will – but I worry about him sometimes.”

Shiro smiled, “We take care of each other, Lance.  That’s how a team works.  Go on, we’ll have your Hunk back soon enough.”  Lance nodded and took off after Keith and Pidge, while Shiro made after Hunk.

It had been a rough training session today.  Allura was pushing them toward harder maneuvers, but after all they had endured of late, their nerves were stretched thin.  Coran did what he could; giving them high nutrient food that they tried to stomach and planning their workouts to the minute.  He’d even begun patrolling the hallways at night to make sure the paladins were getting their rest.  Shiro knew that due to incorporating Coran’s path into his own as a sort of stealth challenge when he couldn’t sleep.

Shiro had watched it wearing on everyone.  Keith was baiting Lance more, which in turn was unbalancing Voltron.  Pidge wasn’t helping matters by egging them both on.  But Hunk.  He was different.  As the others got louder and more argumentative, Hunk grew quiet.  And disappeared on his own for chunks of time between training.  If he hadn’t been so worn out himself, Shiro might have looked into Hunk’s behavior earlier, but even he was not immune to weariness.  Besides, Hunk always seemed so steadfast that Shiro often forgot how young and inexperienced he was.  How young and inexperienced they all were.

But despite having let his duty as team leader lapse, Shiro did know one thing – if he needed to find Hunk, and he wasn’t with Lance, he was most likely in the kitchen.  So Shiro headed there, going at a steady pace as he let the tension of training roll off of him until he could think more clearly.  As he approached, Shiro heard the telltale clatter of pots and pans, and something sizzling on the stove.

“Thought I might find you here,” he commented, leaning against the doorway and crossing his arms.

“Look,” Hunk had a frying pan in one hand, held at an angle, as he stirred its contents expertly, “I’m sorry about what I said in the hangar.  It’s just that sometimes I just want to punch them, y’know?  Except their my friends, so I would never do that, but - ”

Shiro chuckled, “Hunk, Hunk – listen, I’m not here to make you apologize,” he shook his head.  “Sometimes I want to punch them too.”

“What – really?  ‘cause I didn’t mean like actually ‘cause I really care about them, I mean Lance and I have known each other for years, but I don’t really know Keith and Pidge that well, but I still wouldn’t actually punch them but - ”

“Hunk!”  Hunk blinked at Shiro, then flushed.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I promise.”  Shiro walked forward, hopping up onto a counter to sit as he watched Hunk go back to cooking.  When the young paladin tossed in some strange looking yellow and blue tuber, Shiro had to stare a little.  “How do you even know what’s edible?” he asked.

“With this,” Hunk winked as he tapped the side of his nose.

“Hunk, this is alien food – how does your _nose_ know?”

“Because the nose knows!” Hunk laughed, scooping some of the concoction into the other pot that was filled with a simmering sauce of some sort.

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“From everyone,” Hunk shrugged.  “First from my parents, then from my siblings.  Everyone has a different style to food, which is why no dish ever tastes alike.  The best dish is a collage of the people that inspired it.”

“How would that work?” Shiro asked.  Hunk took a minute, stirring in the tubers to the sauce, then checking on something in the makeshift oven.  Shiro was relatively sure that was an engine of some sort that had _not_ been built for food preparations.

“Every dish needs its key ingredients, but they can’t clash,” Hunk leaned against the counter.  “You can’t put ketchup and cereal together – unless you’re Lance – just like you can’t put two people completely unsuited to one another together.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow.  “That’s true.  But what if the ingredients aren’t so drastically different as everyone thinks.  What if that cereal is a really weird brand – what if it’s hot dog cereal.”

Hunk stared at him.  “Hot dog cereal?  You’re kidding.”

“We are talking about Lance here.”

“No, no.  That’s fair.  And the ketchup is…?”

“Keith.”

“Right.  Which makes Pidge?”

“Jalapenos.”

“On a hot dog?”

“Why not?  It could work.”

“Uh huh, sure.”  Hunk eyed him.  “So that makes you, what?”

“The relish.”

“…this is getting weird.”

“So what’s that make you, Hunk?  What’s missing?”  Shiro smiled.

“Sanity?”

“Hunk…”

“The bun?”

“A hot dog isn’t a hot dog without a bun.”

“Hot dog cereal.”

“It’s a metaphor.”

“Yeah, a _bad_ metaphor.”

“My _point_ is,” Shiro insisted, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the conversation, “this team doesn’t work without you.  You understand the pieces, you put them into balance, and you hold them together.  I’m not even sure you see what you do.”

“Shiro, I hate to burst your bubble but,” Hunk shrugged, turning back to the stove, “I’m just a leg.”  He switched off the burner under the sauce, pouring it into a nearby bowl.

“And who else is a leg?”

“Lance.  Which is weird – why is Lance a leg?”  Hunk pulled a tray out of the oven, eyeing it as he set it aside.

“Lance is a leg because _you’re_ a leg, Hunk.  You balance him.  Imagine if he were an arm.  Or the head, even.”  Shiro cringed at the thought.  Lance was entirely too competitive to be placed in either of those roles.  The only reason Keith could pull it off was because he occasionally listened to Shiro.  Or so Shiro told himself.  “Imagine if you were anywhere but where you are.  The base of the pyramid – you and Lance.  That friendship is what Voltron is _literally built on_.  That base wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t for you.  Voltron wouldn’t be possible”

“I still want to punch them,” Hunk said.  “Mostly.”

Shiro shrugged, “Families are like that, Hunk.  What’s that phrase…’you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.’  Well, imagine they’re the eggs.”

“I thought they were hot dog cereal.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow.  “You get what I’m saying.”

“I do.  I think.  Probably.”  Hunk grabbed an empty bowl, cutting what looked something like lasagna from the pan he had pulled from the oven and placing it into the dish.  Then he carefully poured some of the sauce and tuber mix over the top.

“Here you go; _relish_ every bite.”

Shiro snorted.  “You’re sure it’s edible?”

“Of course,” Hunk smiled.

With a shrug, Shiro accepted a spoon and took a bite.  He nearly spat it everywhere as the flavor hit his tongue.  He coughed, then gagged a little, spluttering as he rushed for the water hose to rinse his mouth.

“I think.”  Hunk said innocently.  “Probably.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this started or where it ended it just happened and I'm only a little sorry. Shiro/Hunk interactions requested and now complete.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the ridiculousness!


End file.
